


Wanton Song

by htebazytook



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Incest, M/M, Mentions of Underage Sex, PWP, Slash, Smut, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only one bed, and smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanton Song

**Title:** Wanton Song  
 **Author:** htebazytook  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Warnings:** incest, mentions of underage sex  
 **Disclaimer:** *disclaims*  
 **Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
 **Time Frame:** season 1  
 **Author's Notes:** PWP  
 **Summary:** Only one bed, and smut ensues.

 

"Stop your whining and chill out, man. Don't they have roommates in college? They had roommates on The Facts of Life, even stuck up bitches like Blair sucked it up and had roommates."

"That was a boarding school, and a fictional one." Sam's changing for bed, and he's sick of hearing Dean talk after a day of overblown stories - Dad and me this and Dad and me that. He doesn't _mind_ sharing a bed with his brother, but he also doesn't see why they couldn't have gone another couple miles and found an equally shitty motel with some options, at least. "I had some extra cash on account of my scholarships, so – "

Dean peels his shirt and jeans off before getting under the thin covers. "Yeah, yeah, I know, you got paid to stand around Stanford and look pretty while the rest of us were out there earning a living . . . "

Sam is way too tired to bother pointing out Dean's annual hunting salary is in the zero figures. "I _used_ that cash to get a nice two bedroom rental where none of my roommates there were as obnoxious as you." He slips into the bed next to Dean, and the mattress protests with a disconcerting creak. "And, uh, we didn't share beds."

Dean veers indignant, even sits up to demand, "How am I obnoxious?"

"Well, let's see – the time you made me drink a whole pot of coffee when I was eight and wouldn't let me sleep all night, for one . . . "

"Dad was investigating reports of a spirit that went after kids in that town! I needed you awake, too, Sam."

"The time you put my hand in warm water while I was sleeping . . . "

Dean chuckles. "Well that was just classic."

"The time you - "

"Okay okay!" Dean lies back down, jerks the covers up to his chin. "Jeez . . . Let's just get some shut eye, okay? _God_ . . . "

It isn't long before the edge of sleep weighs heavily on Sam, numbing his senses and slowing his heart and breathing. Reality and its unreliable echoes meld in his fading consciousness – half formed notions alongside true memories of the day, scratchy Zeppelin songs and the bland countryside on I-74. The sweet shock of sensation on him somewhere . . . on his arm? Dean's hand maybe. Something comforting. 

Warmth meandering across Sam, over his chest and lower and utterly good between his legs and he can't help but sink into that feeling. The phantom suggestion of pleasure materializes, slowly, until it is _definitely_ Dean's hand. Dean's wide hand, practiced motions, rubbing Sam's cock through his sweatpants. Sam wonders why he doesn't just let himself feel this way all the time, but then Dean presses harder and the dreamy uncertainty of it vanishes.

Sam shoves him off. "Thought you wanted me to sleep."

"Come on, Sam," Dean reasons, subsonic words caught in the scarce distance between them. "If it wasn't for me you wouldn't know what the hell that thing was for in the first place."

"Um, _yeah_ , I think I would've figured it out like every other hormonal teenager has throughout the history of time." 

"Not that Korean virgin ghost! Changyoyo or whatever."

"Cheonyeo, and oh my God, I don't _care_ . . . " Sam stretches, yawns, bats Dean's persistent hand away.

"Hey, you've _been_ stressed out as bad as an emo ghost chick lately. Excuse me for lending a hand!"

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. "That's a lame-ass pun even for you."

"Shut the hell up! It's a . . . good . . . you know just . . . just screw you, man!"

Dean turns sulkily onto his side and away from Sam, taking most of the feeble covers with him.

Sam sighs. "Dean."

"Trying to _sleep_." 

Sam can't, though, he's wide awake by now – that little surge of adrenaline from fighting, not to mention the addictive feverish surge of arousal.

Sam scoots closer to Dean on the bed, watching his tense bare shoulders rise and fall with every measured breath. He noses up Dean's spine, kisses the nape of his neck softly. 

"I've insulted your manhood haven't I?" Sam asks, reaching around to trace the outline of Dean's cock through his boxers.

"Jesus," Dean says, jumping at Sam's touch. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

"That is _not_ funny."

"Lighten up, Sammy."

Sam removes his hand.

Dean laughs, and Sam can feel it. "No, hey, I didn't mean - no, see, _that's_ not funny, that's uh, what isn't funny I . . . mm . . . "

Sam squeezes Dean's growing erection, unable to resist grinding his own against Dean's ass. "Hard enough now?"

Dean nods, Sam can feel that too. He turns around, forcing Sam onto his back and half leaning over him.

" _Oh_ ," Dean groans, tipping Sam's chin so he can lick up his throat, "I am _so_ going to hell."

"Mmhmm . . . "

Dean bites the shell of Sam's ear, sucks on the lobe, nuzzles into his hair. "Sheesh, Sam, you need a haircut. You going hippie on me?"

"Ugh, _Dean_." Sam tries to squirm away from the sharp press of Dean's necklace into his arm. He could at least take the damn thing off when he went to sleep, couldn't he?

Dean holds him still, speaks delicately into Sam's ear: "Take your clothes off."

Sam shivers and scrambles out of Dean's grip, tearing them off in a graceless rush. When he faces Dean again he's hit with a much less subtle wave of arousal – Dean's pulled his weeping dick out of the slit in his boxers, and he's stroking it and watching Sam avidly.

It takes Dean a minute of open-mouthed panting to realize Sam's watching him, too. "Sam, you are so goddamn fuckable," he murmurs, then adds more loudly, "I mean you look _like a chick_. Like it's ridiculous."

Sam smirks. "That turns you on a little bit, though."

Dean gestures at his rather prominent erection. "Oh ya think?"

Sam laughs, and Dean laughs, and then Dean sits back against the flimsy motel headboard and crooks his finger at Sam. "C'mere, doll face."

Dean's skin is artistic in the bleak light, cut by the sharpness of nighttime shadows that feel more at home on him than the sunlight does. He's breathing through his mouth, hard and unable to look away from Sam, hooded eyes scraping over Sam's face before flickering down his body as searing as a touch.

Sam crawls to him, enjoying Dean's raised eyebrows, and especially enjoying his surprised yelp when Sam sucks his cock into his mouth for a minute, just long enough to get it wet and tease the head a little. Dean's eyes are still scrunched closed when Sam leans against the headboard with him and wraps his hand around hot velvety flesh.

"Fuck," Dean gasps, gritting his teeth. "That's good, that's good." He turns his head restlessly against the wall, eyes going out of focus before latching obsessively onto Sam's. Sam strokes his cock faster. Dean groans and reaches for Sam's too.

Pleasure blooms keenly through Sam's body, pulsing in his groin and his fingertips and making him breathless. He thrusts into Dean's hand a few times, moaning at the feeling.

"Sam," Dean says, sounding both lost and terribly present at once. And Sam's name in Dean's mouth when he says it like that disarms him like nothing else ever has. 

Sam moves his hand even faster, feeling Dean twitch and feeling Dean's answering grip on Sam hurry to match the pace. Dean is close, panting and pleading for more, doing it less and less coherently. Sam jerks him roughly until Dean grunts and whimpers and comes shuddering against him.

The rhythm of Dean's strokes falters only briefly, and when he starts pulling on Sam's dick again Sam closes his eyes and gives himself over to it. Dean's mouth sucking Sam's neck and jawline and muttering encouragements to him, prickly hair and sweaty skin and hard muscle of his arm crammed against Sam's chest.

"Come on, come on," Dean keeps saying. And when Sam does come he's still saying it – kissing Sam's mouth vaguely, repeating himself and wiping Sam's come on the comforter.

Dean gets up shortly afterward, and the rush of cool air against Sam's overheated skin in his wake is heavenly. The bathroom door crunches against carpet and Sam hears a second of running water before Dean walks back into the room and tosses a damp cloth at him. "Catch."

Sam plucks the cloth off of his face. "This isn't even warm. It's not even lukewarm."

Dean throws his hands up. "Hey, at least I tried, okay? The thanks I get . . ."

The mattress dips under Dean's weight as he lies down again. Sam wipes the mess from his stomach lazily, still savoring the vibrating weightlessness of orgasm. 

Dean sighs and snatches the cloth from him, takes over Sam's ineffectual efforts and cleans Sam's stomach and thighs and softening cock, then wipes himself down and tosses the cloth away.

"You gonna sit there all night or what?" Dean says. "Get some sleep, already." He tugs on Sam's arm until Sam lies down next to him.

Sam watches Dean's eyes closing, struggles to keep his own open. "We're never gonna - " He interrupts himself with a yawn. " – mm, stop doing this huh?"

Dean stretches and pulls the covers up over both of them. "God I hope not."

*


End file.
